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Chapter 2
The windows were dark, reflecting the flickering candlelight against their panes. Mac crossed his ankle over his knee, lowering the missive in his hand and pinching the bridge of his nose. He had not been back to Graton since the day he had left to join the navy, six years prior. He couldn’t help but feel concern about returning.
According to Charles, everything was much the same in the small town they had grown up in. People had come and gone, relationships had formed, but the houses, the land, the Sheffield family—all of that remained unchanged. And that was what plagued Mac. He’d been a thoughtless youth, even a flirt, that he would readily admit. But what young man truly knew his own heart, or even thought about love? Surely his misdeeds could be blamed on his inexperience and youth.
Mac had grown up in the shadow of the Sheffield estate. He’d had a close friend in Charles, and he’d never wanted to leave Graton—the navy had not been his goal as a young man—but his father’s choices had made it impossible for Mac to do anything else. His foolish actions had ruined everything, and his shame bled down to Mac, ruining his chance at a peaceful life in the town he loved.
Smoothing out the letter in his hands, he ran his eyes over the words once more. The war had ruined many lives, but it had also lined Mac’s pockets—or, it would as soon as the prize courts finished reviewing his ship’s prize money and determining whether or not they would receive it. The chance remained that the prize courts would deny them—their claim had been tied up for months now—and that worried him excessively.
He could not help his father without that money.
The library door opened, and Charles stepped inside, crossing the floor and lowering himself in the plush wingback chair. He rubbed his temples, expelling a noisy breath.
“Something troubling you?” Mac asked.
“Not exactly.” Charles glanced up, holding his friend’s gaze. “I’m looking forward to a respite in the country, though.”
“A respite, huh? I didn’t realize building cottages was such languid work.”
Charles grinned. “I plan to leave most of the work to you and Desmond.”
Mac let out a booming laugh. “You’re bound to be disappointed, then.”
“What I fail to understand is why my uncle won’t hire laborers.”
Mac would have wondered the same thing just a few years before, but his time in the navy had changed his perspective. He’d worked hard and learned the value of using his own hands to build or create, to accomplish a goal. Charles’s uncle had been Mac’s captain for much of his navy career, so he’d grown to know the man very well. Captain Sheffield was nothing if not industrious. Why would he hire men to do a job he could—with some help—accomplish himself? But that was key: the captain would not do this alone.
“Last I heard, Captain Sheffield planned to acquire some help from Graton to supplement our labor.” Mac stretched his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. “But yes, I must agree. I am tired of Town life, and the wide, open skies of Devon are calling my name.”
“Careful, you’re sounding poetic.”
Mac chuckled. “We wouldn’t want that.”
“The ladies might.”
“All the more reason to curb my tongue.”
Charles sighed. “Perhaps I’ll borrow your turn of phrase. I don’t hesitate to admit that I would be more than happy to find myself leg-shackled soon.”
“It is different when you have a particular lady in mind.” Mac did not, and despite one woman’s particular attention, he was not in the market for a wife. “Where is Desmond?”
“Asleep.” Charles rose, stretching his arms high above his head. “Which is where I should be. We will make an early departure, yes?”
Mac nodded. “I’ll be along shortly.”
He listened to Charles’s footsteps retreat down the corridor and thump up the stairs. They hadn’t been in London long, but it was long enough to determine that Mac was ready to leave the metropolis—and the fawning women to be found here. He didn’t know how the rumor had spread that he was set to receive a sizable sum from the prizes his ship had attained during the war. But the word had spread, and the ton mistakenly believed him to be a wealthy man.
One woman had gone as far as attempting to force Mac into a compromising situation, regardless of his insistence that he was unsure if the money would ever reach his hands. For all Mac knew, he could remain poor and become forced to join back up with the navy.
But for now, an escape to the countryside with his friends, where no fawning women might find him, was precisely what he needed.
* * *
Mac shifted on the narrow seat, trying to make himself as small as possible. It was difficult to fit himself into an average-sized chair; the small interior of the carriage made him feel like an absolute giant.
His knees knocked against Charles’s across the way, and he caught his friend’s gaze as a snore ripped through the carriage.
Desmond shifted in his sleep beside Mac, leaning further against the side of the vehicle.
